


Free Trade

by Klitch



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, M/M, Zombies, light gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6225538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klitch/pseuds/Klitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his choices largely limited to ‘barista’ or 'victim of the zombie hordes,’ Fushimi had reluctantly picked barista.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free Trade

**Author's Note:**

> On Twitter a while back I had a conversation around the idea of a coffee shop/zombie apocalypse AU fusion, and with this week’s onedayk theme being ‘cafe’ I couldn’t resist the temptation. I apologize in advance.

Fushimi stifled a yawn as he leaned against the counter of the cafe, checking his PDA for the fifth time that hour. There wasn't much to check, of course – no internet connection and no phone signal (not that there was anyone who would call him except _that guy_ and if there was one thing about the current situation that Fushimi took great pleasure in, it was knowing that Niki probably really was dead in a ditch somewhere) so the only thing to do was play with the apps that didn't require internet to function. He had his phone charger with him and the cafe for whatever reason happened to run on its own generator, so at least he didn't have to worry about the battery running out. 

Fushimi checked the time again, clicking his tongue. Still another two hours left in his shift, on top of having to do clean-up duty early the next morning. It wasn't like they got a lot of traffic at this time of day anyway, early evening on a spring day when it wasn't like anyone in their right mind would want coffee anyway. 

There was also the small matter of all the zombies wandering around outside, of course, which tended to kill traffic in more ways than one. 

Fushimi would have thought that if there was any good excuse for not wanting to keep the counter clean or skipping over sweeping the floor for a couple days it would be a zombie outbreak. But Munakata was very adamant that zombies were no reason not to keep the shop in optimal condition and as he was the one paying Fushimi's salary (in food, shelter, weaponry and electricity) there was nothing else for Fushimi to do but click his tongue and complain about his boss's little eccentricities. 

The last time he'd checked Munakata was in the back with assistant manager Awashima testing out the oven. The building had apparently once been a full-service cafe and pastry shop and Munakata had decided that wouldn't it be nice if they could fill the little glass cabinet with cakes and such in order to foster a more calming atmosphere. Akiyama and Benzai had gone out to the grocery to see what ingredients they could scavenge while Hidaka and Gotou did evening clean up duty outside the shop. The others were asleep in what had once upon a time been the staff lounge but was now a makeshift apartment. Fushimi himself slept in the storage room when he could; it was at least _quieter_ than the staff lounge but smelled so much like coffee that he was starting to brew lattes in his dreams. 

He still wasn't sure how he'd been dragged into this. When everything had gone to hell Fushimi had fought his way through the sudden hordes of undead as best he could, sustaining minor injuries but luckily no bites. He'd seen the door of the cafe hanging open on its hinges and stumbled inside, hoping for a least a moment to rest and catch his breath before he had to go on the move again. 

He'd been promptly greeted by a man in glasses standing behind the counter and smiling so brightly Fushimi could swear the air around the man had started to sparkle. 

At first Fushimi had assumed that Munakata Reisi was the owner of the cafe hiding out until it was safe. He found out later that Munakata was in fact the son of a prominent politician and had been attending a nearby university when the outbreak began. He'd stumbled upon the empty shop while escaping the zombies, noted its working generator and well-stocked backroom and had apparently decided to make use of it the best way he could imagine. 

Fushimi had been only the third person to be 'hired' to work at the cafe – if 'hired' was the best way to put it, seeing as there weren't exactly a lot of other options with the city being in a state of chaos. He knew there was a bar on the other side of town that was helping deal with survivors and using underground connections to get uninfected people out of the city – Awashima's boyfriend was a former bartender and the two of them exchanged messages from time to time – but beyond that his choices were largely limited to 'barista' or 'victim of the zombie hordes.' The choice being what it was, Fushimi had reluctantly picked barista. 

He clicked his tongue again and leaned against the counter, pocketing his PDA for the moment and pulling out a knife instead, idly cleaning blood off the blade with a napkin. Business had really dried up recently, it seemed, not that he was complaining. Fushimi wasn't exactly a people person, after all, and the less irritating hysterical customers he had to deal with per day the better. He almost preferred the zombies. 

The bell above the door rang softly and Fushimi flicked the knife back up his sleeves as he straightened up slightly. There was a red-haired kid standing just inside the doorway to the cafe, covered in blood and zombie innards, with a backpack slung over one shoulder and holding a baseball bat in one hand, a skateboard at his feet. He was staring around the cafe with his mouth hanging open, clearly not sure what he was seeing. 

“Welcome to Cafe Scepter,” Fushimi recited in flat bored tones. Munakata loved to give lectures about sounding pleasant and appealing for the customers but Fushimi didn't see the point when half of the people who walked through their doors were too busy trying to figure out why the hell there was an open cafe in the middle of a zombie outbreak to care what his tone sounded like. 

“Ah...uh...” The redhead blinked widely, looking around. “What the _fuck?”_

“Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to order something?” Fushimi asked as he leaned over the counter and wrinkled his nose slightly, zombie guts were not the most appealing smell in the world. The redhead did a double take, having apparently not noticed Fushimi until this point, and Fushimi gave a disgusted sigh. “Yes, it's a cafe, yes, we're open. If you're just going to stand there gaping like a moron then go back outside before you make the entire place smell like zombie.” Fushimi smirked slightly at the blank look he received in reply. “I'm sure you'll be fine. The zombies are only interested in people with _brains,_ after all.” 

“What the hell was that, asshole?” The redhead stalked over to the counter, pointing the bat at him. “What's going on here?” 

“What does it _look_ like?” Fushimi muttered. “It's a cafe, idiot. So are you going to order something or not?” 

“Uh...well...” The bat lowered and the redhead shook his head, looking totally at a loss. “I mean...you guys sell drinks? Like...real drinks?” 

“No, fake drinks.” Fushimi rolled his eyes. “If you're not going to order I have other things to do right now.” Not really, but the stupid customer didn't need to know that. 

“All...right.” The kid straightened his shoulders as if trying to steady himself. “I'll have...a coffee? I guess?” 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Fushimi asked. “Honestly, are you even old enough to order coffee? Where's your mommy, huh?” 

The kid blanched for a moment and Fushimi supposed if he was a better person he would've felt bad about that. The reply was more than worth it though, as the kid immediately snapped at him again. 

“I'm nineteen!” The kid crossed his arms, not meeting Fushimi's eyes. “So I'll have a coffee. A _black_ coffee. None of that kiddy sugar.” 

“Can that tiny body even handle a proper coffee?” Fushimi mused as he dug out a cup from underneath the counter. They still had a handful of the old styrofoam cups left for people to use for to-go orders, the rest were scavenged mugs that were required to be returned once the drink was done. Fushimi took one of the styrofoam cups and grabbed a marker. “Name for the order?” 

“I'm the only one here, why the hell do you need my name?” 

“Name for the order,” Fushimi repeated, enjoying the way the kid's eyelids twitched just slightly. 

“Yata.” 

“Yata...” Fushimi waited, marker hovering a few inches from the cup. 

“Just Yata!” 

“I need your _full name_ to place an order,” Fushimi said. Really, the idiot was unexpectedly entertaining. He hadn't had this much fun that didn't involve killing things in weeks. 

“Yata...Mimmpmph.” The name was mumbled under his breath and completely unintelligible. 

“What was that?” Fushimi prompted. “I'm waiting.” 

“Ergh...fine, fine! Misaki. Yata...Misaki.” Yata's ears were bright red with embarrassment and Fushimi smirked triumphantly as he wrote 'Misaki' on the cup in the biggest letters he could manage. “Not 'Misaki!' I told you, it's Yata! Yata!” 

“Did you say something, _Misaki?”_ Fushimi asked, walking over the coffee maker. “I couldn't hear you over the coffee machine.” 

“Asshole,” Yata muttered under his breath. He sighed a bit and then looked around. “So...this really is a cafe? I mean, I thought...shouldn't it be closed? Even places like this close in emergencies, right?” 

“Our manager's an eccentric.” Which was putting it lightly, but Fushimi figured it was as good a reason than any. As he began to pour the coffee out of the corner of his eye Fushimi could see Yata still hanging around the counter, looking around himself as if he couldn't quite believe where he was. Fushimi walked back over and set the cup down but as Yata reached for it he pulled it away. “Payment first.” 

“Payment?” Yata repeated. 

“Did you think this was a charity office, Misaki?” Fushimi scoffed. “Of course you have to pay. What kind of cafe gives away drinks for _free?”_

“Well, yeah, but I thought...” Yata shook his head and began to hesitantly dig through his pockets. “Um...I think I still have my wallet in here somewhere, I've probably got some cash...” 

“We don't take cash,” Fushimi said, tapping one finger on the counter. 

“But you just said--” 

“What do you think we'd do with cash, Misaki? In case you haven't noticed, the city's got a little zombie problem happening right now.” 

“Says the guy working the register at a _fucking cafe_ that's open in the middle of a zombie outbreak!” 

“Information.” Fushimi leaned back, crossing his arms. “If you have anything worth sharing, we'll take it. Weapons are fine too, or anything useful you might have on you. I'll decide if it's enough to pay for the coffee so you'd better make it worth my while, _Misaki.”_

“Would you stop calling me that? It's creepy.” Yata pulled off his backpack and began to dig through it. His face lit up slightly as he pulled something out. “Here! How about this?” 

“A game system.” Fushimi fixed the handheld with an unimpressed gaze. “What exactly am I supposed to do with this?” 

_“Play_ with it, any _idiot_ knows that,” Yata said haughtily. “The charger's in here too and there's a couple games pre-loaded. The charge went out a while ago but since you've got electricity here you can plug it back in, right?” 

Fushimi gave Yata a flat look, chin resting on one hand. Finally he straightened, clicking his tongue.” 

“Fine.” 

“Huh?” Yata stared at him for a moment, clearly surprised by how easily Fushimi had given in. 

“I said, fine. Hand it over. Charger too.” It would at least give him something to stave off the boredom besides playing the stupid game with the cats on his phone for the hundredth time. Gotou had somehow managed to download the game back when the wifi connection still worked and Fushimi had left it there only because it wasn't like he had many other apps left to play with. 

“R-right.” Yata dug the charger out of his backpack and handed it to Fushimi along with the game system. Fushimi pulled it back behind the counter and then slid the coffee over to him. Yata eyed the drink warily, as if he didn't quite trust that Fushimi had really given him actual coffee. 

“So? Drink it, _Misaki.”_

“I'm going to!” Yata said sharply. “I just have to...let it get cool first, that's all.” 

“It's _coffee,_ idiot. You're supposed to drink it hot.” Fushimi sighed. “You really are a kid, aren't you?” 

“I told you, I'm nineteen!” Yata snapped. “How old are you, anyway? I bet you're not much older than me.” 

“I don't have to tell my age to customers,” Fushimi said. 

_“Oh?”_ Yata challenged. “That sounds just like what a _kid_ would say.” 

“Tch.” Fushimi scowled. “Fine. Nineteen.” 

“When's your birthday?” 

“Why the hell does that matter?” 

“Just tell me already.” Yata shook his head. “You're a difficult guy, you know.” 

“I don't need to hear that from you,” Fushimi said. “November 7th.” 

“Ha!” Yata pointed at him dramatically. “Mine's in July! So which one of us is the kid now, huh?” 

“The one who keeps trying to avoid drinking his coffee,” Fushimi said without missing a beat. 

“I'll drink it in a minute.” Yata squirmed slightly, staring down at the cup like it might bite him. “So, um...what's your name?” 

“Why do you care?” Fushimi asked, the question exasperated but honest. It just figured that his only customer would be the most annoying moron he'd ever met. 

“Well, you know mine, right?” Yata said. “So it's only fair if I know yours, isn't it?” 

“Only a simple-minded idiot believes that kind of logic,” Fushimi said with a snort. 

“Well if you wore a name tag or something I wouldn't have to ask!” Yata grumbled. “Shouldn't you have one on?” 

“Where, exactly, am I supposed to get a name tag in the middle of a _zombie outbreak?”_

“I don't know, the same place you got a _working coffee machine_ and _actual coffee?”_ Yata countered. “Seriously, where did this stuff even _come_ from?” 

“People paid for their drinks with it,” Fushimi said shortly. “And the manager had us scavenge for the rest.” 

“Isn't that kinda...dangerous?” Yata asked, looking down at his cup again. 

“Only for weaklings who don't know how to protect themselves,” Fushimi said. “Are you going to drink that any time today, Misaki? You're wasting a limited commodity.” 

“I said, I'm going to!” Yata stated. “Give me your name and I'll drink it.” 

Fushimi narrowed his eyes and Yata stared challengingly back. Finally Fushimi gave a heavy sigh. 

“All right then. Fushimi.” 

“Fushimi what?” Yata pressed. 

“You didn't say I had to give my first name, _Mi...sa...ki.”_

“Would you stop that already!” There was an almost plaintive note in Yata's voice that made Fushimi snicker quietly. “Anyway, _come on._ I gave you mine, so...” 

“Fushimi Saruhiko.” Fushimi gestured to the cup. “So? Drink away, Misaki.” 

“Fine, fine!” Yata picked up the cup and carefully brought it to his lips, looking like he almost expected the coffee to leap out of the cup and strangle him. He took a deep drink, face twisting a little in disgust as he forced himself to swallow it down. 

“...There, see?” Yata's voice was a little strained as he gave Fushimi a forced smile. “It's, um...it's good. Just—just like I like my coffee.” 

“Then you won't mind finishing the whole thing,” Fushimi said lightly. Yata's face fell. 

“That's...” 

“We have sugar,” Fushimi said. “Of course, you wouldn't want anything like that, right? That's for _kids.”_

“Would you shut up and get me some fucking sugar.” 

Fushimi smirked and reached for the sugar packets. 

– 

Two days later Fushimi was back at the counter again, already halfway through his second playthrough of whatever generic shooting game it was that Yata had loaded onto his game system. 

There were actual customers in the cafe today, three of them spread out at the ramshackle tables – there had been only a few non-destroyed tables at the cafe when Fushimi had arrived, the rest had been dragged in from different stores and restaurants and the effect made the entire place look a bit like someone had cut out pictures from two different furniture catalogs and taped them shoddily together. Two of the customers were people Fushimi had never seen before, both with the vaguely shell-shocked look Fushimi was well familiar with, the 'there are zombies out there and everyone I love is dead and there is a _fucking cafe_ that is still open and selling coffee' look. The third was a regular, or at least the closest thing the cafe had to one, a kid who was hiding out at the school island with a few other survivors. He showed up every now and again, toting a sword and a sack full of supplies to trade for a nice cup of green tea. Today he was also enjoying a chocolate biscotti, Munakata's newest creation of which he was quite proud. For his part, Fushimi had found that the presence of fucking _biscotti_ of all things was only moving the mindset of their potential new customers from disbelief straight to 'probably hallucinating.' 

Well, it had been quiet lately, at least. Kamo and Doumyoji had returned from a successful scavenging trip to the nearest closed and dilapidated chain coffee shop with a couple sacks full of instant coffee, coffee beans, tea, flavoring syrups and even a few bottles of unspoiled milk that had gone straight to the refrigerator that Fushimi had managed to get rewired and working in the back. Akiyama and Benzai had managed to find a good amount of flour, sugar, yeast and various other baking ingredients on their trip to the grocery and Munakata's eyes had practically shone when Akiyama had given him a cookbook snagged from the broken shop front of what had been a bookstore. Akiyama had felt rather bad about technically stealing it, which Fushimi had found absolutely ridiculous all things considered. 

The bell above the door rang again, along with the sound of door slamming. The two new customers jumped slightly and Fushimi reluctantly paused his game as he sat up. The half-hearted greeting on his lips died the moment he saw who was standing there, covered in zombie guts and with what looked like an arm bone held in one hand like a club. 

“Oh, it's you.” Fushimi reached for the game again. “I'm afraid we haven't got any kid's drinks here, _Misaki.”_

“S-shut up, asshole!” Yata strode up to the counter and slapped something down on it. “Give me a coffee. With three...with four sugars.” 

“What is that?” Fushimi raised an eyebrow at the thing Yata had placed on the counter. 

“It's a video game,” Yata said. “You know...for the game system.” 

“A video game.” Fushimi picked it up, held it between two fingers. The cartridge was slightly bloodstained but still looked mostly intact despite that. “You want to trade this for coffee?” 

“Well...sure.” Yata shrugged. “Why not? You took the game system, didn't you?” 

“The _entire_ game system,” Fushimi noted. “I'm not giving you a coffee in exchange for one measly game.” 

“Yeah, well, it's not just _one_ measly game.” Yata smirked triumphantly as he emptied his backpack onto the counter. Tiny black game cartridges fell out in a messy pile. “See? How's _that_ for payment, asshole?” 

“Tch. Just what I would expect from a kid like you,” Fushimi said. “I took the game system because you looked so pathetic, but don't think this kind of worthless junk is enough to get you a drink every time.” 

“Well what else was I supposed to bring?” Yata sputtered. “It's not like you guys have _prices_ listed or anything!” 

“It's not my fault you're too stupid to realize what is and isn't valuable,” Fushimi said. He clicked his tongue and swept the games off the counter and into a small pile just beneath the register. “Well, since you're so useless, _Misaki,_ I guess I can give you a hand this once. Here's a hint even your tiny brain should be able to understand: food and weapons are more valuable here than things like money or video games. Keep that in mind for next time.” Fushimi turned and made his way over to the coffee machine. 

“Right, right.” Yata shrugged. “Well, thanks for making me a drink anyway, Saruhiko.” 

“Don't call me by my first name,” Fushimi said shortly. “We're not that close.” 

“You've been using mine all the time though, right?” Yata challenged. “So I get to use yours.” 

“What kind of stupid logic is that?” 

“You're the one who started it,” Yata said. His gaze traveled down the counter. “Hey, wait, is that _biscotti?”_

“No,” Fushimi said darkly. “I'll give you two sugars.” 

“I said four!” 

“Two sugars.” 

“Saruhiko...” 

_“One_ sugar.” 

– 

Fushimi sighed and leaned the broom against the side of the building, resting his head for a moment against the cool brick wall. He still had a half an hour of clean up duty to go before he had to be back inside to begin his morning shift. At least it had been fairly quiet so far today and with another heavy sigh Fushimi reached for the broom again, scraping the blood off its broken and sharpened tip. 

Everyone took their turn with clean up duty, of course, because Munakata was insistent that they keep the shop front as nice as possible. Fushimi had been busy all morning, sweeping up fallen leaves, picking up garbage, and stabbing any nearby zombies in the brain until they died. Along with the broom he was also carrying three sets of hidden knives of various types, a handgun, two grenades someone had traded for a double espresso and, as a last resort, a small vial of lamp oil and a lighter. Considering the current situation Fushimi didn't believe there was any such thing as being _too_ prepared. 

“Hey, Saruhiko!” The greeting made him look up. Yata Misaki came skating by leisurely from across the street, dragging a metal pole behind him. He was missing his hat and looked slightly worse for wear but he still had on the same stupid grin. 

“Misaki?” Fushimi caught himself staring and shook his head, focusing his gaze on the ground instead as he swept up a few more leaves. “Don't bother me while I'm working, idiot.” 

“So you can actually come out from behind the counter,” Misaki said. “What're you doing?” 

“What does it look like?” Fushimi rolled his eyes. “I'm _cleaning.”_

“Isn't it just gonna get messy again, though? With the zombies.” Misaki waved a hand in the direction of the corpse Fushimi had dragged a few feet down the street where it wasn't blocking the storefront anymore. 

“The manager thinks it's important we look 'presentable.'” Fushimi clicked his tongue. “As if anyone's left alive in this shithole to care.” 

“Don't be such a grump!” Misaki said. _“We're_ alive, right?” 

“One of us is,” Fushimi said mildly, eying Misaki's disheveled clothes. “What happened to you?” 

“Got into a little trouble at the place I was hiding out.” Misaki shrugged. “I'm sure I can find a new place though, I just gotta be careful.” He swung the metal bar around a couple times and Fushimi could see it was stained with blood. “Anyway, I've been trying to find some stuff I could trade you for. For drinks, and stuff.” 

“Don't get yourself killed for sugar with some coffee mixed in, Misaki,” Fushimi said archly. 

“Shut up about that,” Misaki muttered. “Anyway, you guys have food now too, right? I heard from someone that there was some kinda cake the other week.” 

“Chocolate torte,” Fushimi said. “The manager's been experimenting again.” 

“Oh. So, how was it?” 

“How was what?” 

“The...torte thing.” 

“I didn't try any.” Fushimi clicked his tongue, readjusting his grip on the broom. 

“Why not?” Misaki seemed sincerely confused by his reply and Fushimi gave him a sidelong look. 

“I don't like sweets.” 

“Oh.” Misaki seemed to consider that. “So, you like coffee?” 

“Not really.” 

“But you work at a coffee place!” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Fushimi muttered. “It's just a _job,_ Misaki.” 

“Well...then what do you like?” Misaki asked. 

“What kind of question is that?” Fushimi turned his back to Misaki, sweeping at the ground again. 

“I'm trying to be friendly, asshole!” Misaki snapped from behind him. 

“I don't recall asking to be your friend,” Fushimi stated. 

“You know, if you weren't such a _jerk_ \-- Saruhiko, look out!” Misaki's warning made him look up sharply just in time to spot the zombie that had appeared directly in front of him, jaws open. Fushimi cursed and whirled the broom up in a defensive position, just barely managing to block as the zombie swung at him. 

“Saruhiko!” There was the sound of wheels on pavement and then Misaki's pole slammed into the zombie's stomach. It toppled backwards and Fushimi slammed the pointed end of the broom straight into its eye. Misaki's pole arched downwards into the trapped zombie's head, killing it. 

“Tch. This is what happens when you distract people with stupid talk about friendship,” Fushimi said. 

“Yeah, well, at least _one_ of us was paying attention,” Misaki said. “I was--” 

“Quiet.” Fushimi reached into his jacket and pulled out the handgun as he whirled around. Misaki immediately stiffened, glancing over his shoulder with a curse. Somehow the commotion they were making seemed to have summoned more zombies, a small horde of them shambling towards where Fushimi and Misaki were standing. 

“Should we get inside?” Misaki asked, metal pole held at the ready in his hands. 

“And lead them all into the shop? This is why I called you useless, Misaki.” Fushimi held the broom up in front of him as he cocked the pistol. “I told you, I'm on clean up duty today. So get out of the way and let me finish my job.” 

“Leave you alone to get your ass kicked?” Misaki laughed grimly. “I guess I can give you a hand this once, since you let me try that weird biscotti last week.” 

“Don't do me any favors, Misaki,” Fushimi said with a slight smile. “I can take on scum like these by myself.” 

“But it's faster if there's two of us, right?” Misaki said. “I bet I can kick their asses faster than you can.” 

“I'd like to see you try.” The zombies were coming closer and Fushimi exchanged a quick glance with Misaki, who smiled fiercely in reply. The two of them moved so they were standing back to back, weapons ready. 

One of the zombies lunged forward and the two of them attacked together. 

Less than ten minutes later it was over, the zombies a mass of corpses on the ground. Fushimi wiped the blood off his glasses with a sigh, turning the broom around in his hands. It had been split neatly in two and he supposed it was a good thing he wasn't actually getting paid so there was nothing for Munakata to dock him for ruining another broom. 

“That was awesome!” Misaki's clothes were a mess of dirt and blood but his face was bright and beaming. “You're pretty good at this, Saruhiko.” 

“I suppose you did all right yourself,” Fushimi said, putting his glasses back on. “Though I could've handled them by myself.” 

“It was fun though, right?” Misaki said. “Those stupid zombies didn't know what hit them!” 

Fushimi clicked his tongue but somehow he couldn't quite hide the smile on his face. Misaki poked at one of the corpses with his metal bar, pushing it further out into the street. 

“You were—you were kinda awesome, too,” Misaki said, sounding almost embarrassed. “I mean with all the – where do you even keep all those knives? And when you hit that one guy right between the eyes and didn't even stop, that was so cool! And with the gun, where'd you even get that, that was kinda—it was kinda really neat, so--” 

Misaki laughed sheepishly, babbling like an idiot and yet Fushimi couldn't help but stare at him, not sure how to respond. 

Something shifted in the shadows behind where Misaki stood and Fushimi clicked his tongue. 

“Pay attention, idiot!” Fushimi launched himself forward, grabbing Misaki and slamming him into the wall just in time to save them both from the zombie that had crawled out of the alley behind where Misaki stood. Fushimi grunted as his head knocked hard against the wall and in one quick movement he pulled a knife from beneath his jacket and sent it flying straight into the zombie's head. It toppled forward without a sound. 

“Whoa, that was close...Saruhiko! Are you okay?” Immediately Misaki was there fussing over him and Fushimi pulled away. 

“I'm fine. Worry about yourself.” Fushimi raised his head a little and swore quietly. 

“What is it?” Misaki was leaning over him again. “Did you get hurt? It looked like that guy missed us, but...” 

“This is why I don't need anyone to help me, Misaki,” Fushimi said darkly, pulling away. “Look at this. My glasses are cracked.” He took his glasses out and held them up so that Misaki could see the distinct spiderweb crack forming on the left lens. 

“...Sorry.” Misaki shrugged. “Well, you can just go get new ones, right?” 

“And where am I going to do that?” Fushimi snorted. “I'll just walk into the nearest glasses store and ask the _dead_ shop assistants to help me out.” 

“Hey, you're the one who works at an open coffee shop,” Misaki said. 

“Shut up,” Fushimi said sulkily. “Do you know how much of a bother it is, Misaki, to have a crack in front of your eyes at all times?” 

“I _said_ I was sorry,” Misaki said. He suddenly went quiet, looking thoughtful. “Um, so...I guess I'll see you again later?” 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Fushimi asked, putting his glasses on and then pulling them off again with a grimace. 

“I need to go find a place to stay,” Misaki said with a shrug. “And then I gotta go do some...stuff...and all. But I'll be back for some coffee soon, okay?” 

“Whatever.” Fushimi shrugged, going back to pick up where he'd left the fallen broom. 

“So...I'll be seeing you, I guess?” 

“Be seeing you,” Fushimi repeated dully. He paused. “Misaki.” 

“Yeah?” Misaki turned to look back at him. 

“There's a bar off of fourth street called Homra. There are...people there. Ask for the bartender, tell him I sent you over. He can help you out.” 

“A bar?” Misaki looked confused for a moment and then his face brightened, like the sun coming out after a rainstorm. “Got it. Thanks, Saruhiko!” 

“Don't thank me, idiot,” Fushimi murmured, turning away again. He wasn't even certain why he'd said it. The words had just suddenly come out of his mouth without him even quite being aware of it, that was all. 

Fushimi clicked his tongue and got back to work. There was no point in thinking about it anyway. Once Misaki got to the bar he'd probably go live at one of the safehouses with the rest of the refugees anyway, and then Fushimi would never see him again. 

For whatever reason the thought made Fushimi's chest tighten, just a bit. 

– 

“Here.” 

“What the hell are you doing, Misaki?” 

It had been a week since Fushimi had sent Misaki over to Bar Homra and safety. He'd expected that would be the end of their relationship – or whatever it was – but Misaki had shown up again the next day with some supplies and information courtesy of Kusanagi. Apparently rather than try and hide out with the refugees Misaki had convinced Kusanagi to let him join the group of survivors who stayed at the bar and went out on scavenger runs, killing zombies and transporting information from the cafe to the bar and back again. The lack of phone service meant the only way for the two groups to communicate was by physical couriers, and with the city still being in a fairly heavy state of emergency it wasn't something that just anyone could do. 

How a loudmouth shrimp like Misaki had convinced _anyone_ to let him help out was a mystery but there he was anyway, ordering his usual coffee with a slight triumphant curve to his smile as if he'd passed some sort of test. It had irritated Fushimi a little, up until the point Misaki had leaned in and started chatting with him over the counter like usual. 

The cafe was busy today, or at least as busy as it tended to get. There were six customers in not counting Misaki, three newcomers and three regulars: the green tea kid and his two friends. They sat in the corner talking quietly and sharing a strawberry shortcake while the newcomers stared around the cafe in the usual utterly confused way. 

Fushimi supposed it didn't help matters the way Misaki had come barging in with his backpack filled with... _something,_ which he'd just triumphantly dumped onto the counter. 

“What is it?” Hidaka was working the counter with him today and he leaned over Fushimi's shoulder to get a look. “Wait...eyeglasses?” 

“Yup.” Misaki wiped his forehead with a laugh. “I had to go to a bunch of different places but I think I got plenty now. One should work, right?” 

“Work for what?” Fushimi felt as though he should know what Misaki was talking about but his mind seemed to have gone blank. 

“Your glasses got broken, didn't they?” Misaki smiled at him and somehow Fushimi thought his breath might have gotten caught in his throat. 

“Wow, you brought all these for Fushimi-san?” Hidaka leaned around him, picking up one of the pairs of glasses and holding it up towards the ceiling. 

“I didn't ask for your help,” Fushimi said coldly, ignoring Hidaka as he stared down at the small pile of eyeglasses. 

“W-well, it was my fault yours got broken, right?” Misaki said, looking oddly nervous all of a sudden. “So I thought...one of these should work for you, right?” 

Fushimi didn't reply, picking up a pair of glasses and twirling it in his hands. 

“I guess this makes up for breaking my old pair,” Fushimi said at last. “Assuming any of these actually fit. You don't even know my prescription.” 

“That's why I got a lot of them!” Misaki said. He grabbed one pair and held it up towards Fushimi's face. “Here...I bet you'd look cool in these, Saruhiko!” 

“'Saruhiko'?” Hidaka repeated in confusion. Fushimi clicked his tongue and glared at Misaki to try and smother the sudden fluttering feeling in his stomach. 

“Don't think this is going to pay for your drink today, _Misaki,”_ Fushimi stated. 

“What? But I brought you all of these!” 

“These are to pay back for what you broke though, right?” 

“Stingy bastard.” Misaki looked irritated for a moment and then shook his head, smiling again. “Well, I gotta run some errands for Kusanagi-san today so I need to get moving anyway. I'll see you later, Saruhiko!” 

Misaki turned with a wave of his hand and disappeared out the door. Fushimi stared after him, hands still mindlessly sifting through the eyeglasses. 

“Wow, that was nice of him!” Hidaka said, holding up another pair of glasses. “Are these designer? That guy must really like you, huh, Fushimi-san?” 

“Shut up,” Fushimi said shortly, sweeping as many of the glasses as he could into his arms. “I'm taking the rest of the the shift off. You can handle it alone from here.” 

“H-hey, wait...!” 

As it turned out, one of the pairs did happen to be Fushimi's prescription, thick-framed glasses that were nearly identical to the ones he already wore. Enomoto adjusted the fit for him, having apparently worked in an optometrist's office prior to the outbreak. He'd stared at the pile of glasses Fushimi brought as though Fushimi had just handed him a bag full of gold. 

“I can't believe that person gave you all these,” Enomoto said as he carefully tightened the screws on Fushimi's new glasses. “I guess you two are good friends, Fushimi-san?” 

Three days later Gotou shook Fushimi awake when he was taking a quick nap in the storeroom. Fushimi sat up slowly, staring up irritably at Gotou and wondering if he would get in trouble for knifing a coworker as long as he had a good reason. 

“Sorry to wake you, Fushimi-san,” Gotou said serenely. “But your friend Yata-san is here. We thought you might like to know, since you two are so close.” 

“We're not close,” Fushimi said darkly. “Someone else can make that idiot his coffee, right? You don't need to bother me.” 

“Of course.” Gotou gave him a knowing smile that somehow made Fushimi feel even more irritated. “Well, just in case you wanted to go talk to him.” 

“I don't,” Fushimi said shortly, pulling his blanket up over his shoulders sulkily. Gotou nodded, humming to himself as he walked away. Fushimi readjusted his position and closed his eyes for a moment. 

Then with a heavy sigh of annoyance, he got up and headed towards the front. 

– 

_Almost there._

Yata staggered through the streets, breathing hard as he clutched at his arm. Blood was dripping down behind him, a small spattering of red drops like flower petals on the pavement. His breath came in short pained gasps, his legs feeling like lead and every step a struggle. 

_Almost there. Just a little farther._ Yata gave a grim smile, feeling blood on his lips. He just had to hold out long enough to... 

Sharp pain radiated up and down his arm and he stumbled slightly. He could feel something hot underneath his fingertips and he bit his lip hard. 

_Not yet! I just...just have to get a little further. Just last a little longer._ He could almost see the silhouette of the shop in front of him. 

_I'm almost there. Just a little more._

_I'm almost there, Saruhiko._

– 

Fushimi leaned against the counter, bored again. Working the late shift was always the worst – Munakata insisted that they be open twenty four hours “just in case” but what few customers they got tended to dwindle once the sun went down. Usually there wasn't much to do on a night shift but clean the counter a few times and play with his PDA and his game system. 

He hadn't seen Misaki in three days, four hours and nine minutes (not that he was counting). Apparently Misaki had been roped into running some of Kusanagi's more difficult and time-consuming errands, owing to the extra speed boost his skateboard gave him, and he didn't have the spare time to come in for a drink. Fushimi's face twisted slightly, he shouldn't have even told Misaki about the bar in the first place. Shifts were maybe a little more exciting, when Misaki was there to talk to. 

Not that he particularly liked Misaki, of course. The rest of the staff kept bugging him about it and it was irritating, the way Munakata would give him knowing smiles whenever Misaki happened to come into the shop or how Doumyoji would come over later and brightly ask what “Fushimi-san's boyfriend” had brought in as payment _this_ time. 

Fushimi didn't bother trying to explain that they were all misunderstanding things. It wouldn't do any good for one thing and besides, he knew that Misaki was just one of the regular customers and that was all. A regular customer who always came in and kept ordering coffee even though he didn't even seem to like it that much (and who left without a drink if Fushimi wasn't there, and who occasionally came by at odd hours to help him with clean up duty but Fushimi could only assume that was out of some misguided sense of guilt for having broken Fushimi's glasses that first time). 

The bell above the door jangled wildly and there was the sound of someone staggering inside. One of Fushimi's hands immediately went for a knife as he looked up – zombies rarely actually came _inside_ the shop but it wasn't unheard of, and it was good to be ready for anything. 

“Saru...hiko...” The bundle of clothes and blood on the floor murmured weakly and Fushimi's eyes widened. 

“Misaki?!” He vaulted over the counter, crouching down by Misaki's side. Misaki propped himself up weakly on his arms, giving a small laugh. 

“S...sorry to come in looking like this.” Misaki coughed, blood on his lips, and Fushimi's eyes were immediately drawn to the way Misaki was holding tight to his upper arm. 

“You moron, what did you do this time?” Fushimi could feel his heart beating hard against his chest as he pried Misaki's hands away from the wound. 

There, on Misaki's upper arm, were three very obvious bite marks. Fushimi swore under his breath. 

“Looks that bad, huh?” Misaki gave a weak laugh. 

“Don't talk,” Fushimi said sharply, moving Misaki so that he was leaning against the counter. 

“I kinda got carried away.” Misaki's voice was strained and far away, as if he wasn't even certain that he was speaking, and Fushimi felt another twist in his stomach. “There were more of them than I thought...I figured I could take them all easily, but...” He coughed again. “Sorry, Saruhiko.” 

“Don't apologize to me, idiot.” Fushimi stood up abruptly. “Just rest there for a minute.” 

“I know I probably should've stayed outside,” Misaki continued, head lolling back as if he didn't even have the energy to raise it anymore. “But...you know, I...I didn't want you to wonder about me...if I was coming back, you know? Or maybe...I wanted to see you one more time? I guess that sounds lame, but...” 

“Shut up, Misaki.” Fushimi's fists clenched as he hurried behind the counter, digging through the packs of instant coffee for a can of coffee beans with a label glued onto it, marked in Munakata's precise flowing script: 'For Emergencies Only.' 

“I really like you, Saruhiko,” Misaki continued, still looking out at nothing as Fushimi moved to pour the coffee beans into the grinder. “I...I wanted to tell you that.” Yata coughed again. “This is a stupid time to say that, huh? Since—since I'm probably dying and I'm gonna turn into a zombie and everything.” 

“You're not going to turn into a zombie.” Making the coffee seemed to be taking too long and Fushimi bit his lip. His hands were shaking slightly and he forced them to remain steady, forced himself to breathe. 

“You're a bad liar, you know that Saruhiko?” Misaki gave another laugh that cut off in a gasp of pain. His body shook for a moment and then with an effort he kept himself still, whimpering slightly as he tried to stand. 

“Stay there!” Fushimi snapped. The coffee wasn't quite hot but it would have to do. He quickly poured the drink into a mug and returned to Misaki's side. “Drink this.” 

“Y-you know, I kinda hate coffee.” Misaki looked up blearily at him. “Stupid, huh? Because I come here all the time...I thought it was a good excuse? I like it when you put all the sugar in though...it didn't taste too bad when you did that...” 

“Misaki.” Fushimi stared down levelly at him. “You need to drink this, idiot. So stop talking.” 

“Sorry...” Misaki shuddered hard again. “Just...just thought you should know. And—and you know, I thought it would be cool if I asked you to go out somewhere but there's nowhere to go...one of the guys at the bar said I should ask you out for coffee but you work at the only open coffee shop in the city...” He cut off with another coughing fit, wet and heavy. Fushimi pounded his back a few times until Misaki could get his breath back. 

“You really are stupid,” Fushimi murmured. “Stop acting like you're going to die.” 

“But...I am, right?” Misaki grabbed his wrist suddenly, grip unexpectedly strong, and Fushimi nearly dropped the coffee. “Hey...Saruhiko...kill me, okay?” 

“What.” Fushimi felt as if everything had gone quiet around him, air sucked out of the room and nothing but hollow suffocation left behind. 

“I don't—don't wanna be a zombie,” Misaki murmured, voice sounding almost delirious. “Don't let me turn into one, okay? If—if I have to be killed I want you to do it, okay...if it's you, it'd be—it'd be kinda okay, you know. So...Saruhiko...please...” 

“I told you, Misaki.” Fushimi pulled his hand away, held the cup to Misaki's lips. Misaki made a small irritated noise, eyes closed and face flushed, and Fushimi had to all but pry his mouth open, pour the coffee down his throat. “You're not going to die.” 

Misaki thrashed once in his grip and then abruptly lay still. Fushimi stood up stiffly, setting the empty mug down on the counter. Carefully he picked Misaki's still body up and laid him down over a couple chairs that had been pushed together. Misaki's breathing was labored but steady, and some of the heat seemed to be draining from his face. 

Fushimi sighed, running a hand through his hair, and then went behind the counter to look for some bandages. 

– 

Fushimi was cleaning off the counter for the third time when there was the sound of movement in the corner of the cafe. He looked up just in time to see Misaki sit up abruptly, a look of utter confusion on his face. 

“I...” Misaki looked around as though not quite believing what he was seeing. “Wait, this is...I'm....” He looked over at his arm, newly bandaged, and poked at the skin as if not completely certain that it was his own. “But I was – and then I – what the fuck?” 

“About time, Misaki.” Fushimi walked over and slid a cup of coffee over to him, his own cup clutched in his hands. “I thought you were going to sleep all day. The tables are for _paying_ customers, after all.” 

“Saruhiko!” Misaki's eyes brightened and Fushimi found himself momentarily taken aback. He quickly recovered, clicking his tongue to cover the slip. “Wait...what the _hell_ , Saruhiko? How—shouldn't I be a zombie? I got bitten, right? So—so I should be...” 

“This is why you need to stop being such a headstrong idiot and actually look where you're going sometimes,” Fushimi stated. “You should be too fast for zombies, _Misaki._ Really, it's pathetic that you let yourself get bitten so easily.” 

“I didn't _let_ myself get bitten, asshole, it just happened and--” Misaki cut off. “W-wait, so I _did_ get bitten? Then why the hell am I not a zombie?” 

“Coffee.” Fushimi shrugged. 

“Coffee?” Misaki repeated blankly. “Wait, wait...I was cured by _coffee?”_

“Looks like it.” Fushimi took a slow drink of his coffee. 

“But—but that's–what the hell?” 

“The manager discovered it a few months ago,” Fushimi said. “Something about coffee stimulating certain antibodies to fight off the zombie infection.” To be fair he'd stopped listening halfway through Munakata's lecture so he'd missed the finer points of it, but seeing as it was Misaki he was talking to Fushimi figured being vague wouldn't be much of a problem. 

“So...it cures zombies,” Misaki said slowly, still looking totally at a loss. 

“Only people who haven't been turned into full zombies yet,” Fushimi said. “And only if you make it with the good coffee beans. That's why we use instant for most of the regular drinks.” 

“Well, yeah, I guess that makes sense – wait, wait, wait just a fucking minute, Saruhiko! You guys _knew_ that coffee cures zombies?” 

“Why else do you think I've been hiding at a cafe, _Misaki?_ Because I love the smell of coffee and zombie guts so much?” 

“I just thought you didn't have anywhere else to go!” Misaki said. “Why the hell would I think that you had a zombie cure? And shouldn't you guys let people know about this anyway?” 

“We _are._ ” Fushimi took another drink, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, what do you think all those messages you've been running for Kusanagi-san were about? The manager thinks if we can get this information to the right people they could probably find a real cure to stop the outbreak. Though he thinks rot will set in first once summer hits and then it won't matter as long as we can keep people from getting infected.” 

“How the hell would I know about any of that?” Misaki crossed his arms, looking annoyed. After a moment he looked back over a Fushimi, touching the bandage on his arm. “So...I'm really cured? Like, I'm not gonna wake up as a zombie one day am I?” 

“Fuze got bitten three months ago and he's fine,” Fushimi said. “We can't know for sure without any medical equipment around to run tests, of course. But probably.” 

“So I'm alive,” Misaki repeated. A goofy smile spread across his face. “I'm alive!” 

“You are.” Fushimi stared down into his coffee cup. 

“Saruhiko.” The seriousness in Misaki's voice made him look up. Misaki was staring at him intently and it made all thoughts of a caustic reply go straight out of his head. “Um, would you...” Misaki cleared his throat nervously. “Do you want to go out for a coffee sometime? Like—like on a...a d-date?” 

Fushimi stared at him and Misaki looked away, fidgeting nervously. At last Fushimi burst out laughing. 

“We're _already_ having coffee, you moron,” Fushimi said, off Misaki's indignant look. 

“Well, _yeah,_ but you're on shift, right?” Misaki rubbed the back of his head nervously. “I thought maybe we could...you know, hang out together? When you're off work?” 

Fushimi took another sip of his coffee, considering. Finally he stood and began to make his way back to the counter. 

“Saruhiko!” Misaki moved as if to grab his arm and stop him, and Fushimi turned to look back at him. 

“My shift ends in ten minutes,” Fushimi said slowly. “Then I have clean up duty. Once I'm done, we can...hang out. Together. I guess.” 

“We can?” Misaki's face slowly brightened, like the rising of a sun, and Fushimi quickly looked away, feeling the heat in his face. “All right! Hey, do you want me to help you with clean up duty? I'm feeling ready to kick some zombie ass!” 

“Just rest for a minute, idiot,” Fushimi said. “Didn't you almost get killed earlier?” 

“Yeah, but I'm fine now thanks to you.” Misaki held out a fist to him, smile wide and sincere. “If it's you and me, I bet we can take on anything that tries to mess with us.” 

Fushimi paused, considering, and he saw Misaki's smile waver just slightly. Fushimi clicked his tongue and shook his head. 

“Well, I suppose you're not that much of a bother, Misaki. All right. You and me.” 

He pressed his fist against Misaki's just once, quickly, and then went back to finish up the last of his shift.


End file.
